//------------------------------// // Chapter 13 // Story: With Good Intentions // by Hustlin Tom //------------------------------// YOL 980 The shop’s bell tinkled as somepony stepped inside. “Coming,” the old earth pony mare exclaimed as she approached the front from a back room, “Coming!” She saw that her latest customer was a middle aged unicorn with a powder blue coat. There was something about him that seemed odd, she thought to herself as she came closer. He looked tired, his demeanor reeked of a shallowly buried depression, but his body language felt sharp and precise, as if every moment counted to him for some reason. “How may I help you today, Sir?” “Would you happen to have any books or scrolls on advanced healing arts,” he asked. “Of course, of course! Our selection may not be as robust as Canterlot Library, but I pride myself on finding exotic pieces and knowledge, all of which is legally sanctioned, of course,” she finished with a slightly nervous cough. “Of course,” he muttered to himself, “Please, show me.” The old mare hobbled towards the back, and he followed close behind. “I have many healing spells for you, oh yes,” she said excitedly, “It might be helpful, however, to know what it is you aim to cure.” “Bone cancer,” he declared as he walked around the small room, taking in the titles of the books. “Oh,” the old mare exclaimed softly, putting her hoof to her chest, “My sincerest condolences, Sir. Is it somepony close to you?” “My daughter.” Her hoof shot up to her mouth with a small gasp. It was as she was explaining that her shop did not have any cures for such a condition that Punnett’s eyes fell on something strange. In a cardboard box, sitting on top of several other more degraded books, sat a dark black book. It was too thin to be a full tome. On its cover was depicted two six pointed stars, each traveling along a line in an arcing swirl. He picked it up to examine it further. It was old, he could tell for certain. Bolera, having studied stories for a living, had also taught him about how books were made at different times in Equestria’s history. The technique used to bind the pages together hadn’t been used in over six hundred years, but the pages, covers, and spine looked no older than a book a fraction its’ age. He came back to the cover, and examined it again; that mark, the age. This was either the best counterfeit in Equine history, or this was the genuine article. “Oh, don’t bother with that,” the old mare said dismissively, “I got that for a few bits at an estate sale. There’s not even any real words written in it; just gibberish from some madpony.” Punnett opened the journal, for that is what he was certain it was. Each page held the optical illusion of a large 3-Dimensional matrix, each point in it a symbol. As he looked further into the book, the symbols slowed in their arcing rotation, eventually settling into evenly spaced rows. “It’s a cipher,” he whispered to himself. The old mare furrowed her brow, “It’s never done that before,” and she then looked up to him, hesitantly saying, “Maybe it likes you.” Perhaps she had meant it as a joke, but Punnett felt she had spoken the absolute truth. “How much did you pay for it,” he asked. “4 bits, but-“ He reached into his satchel, and dropped his whole coin purse into her hooves. After she had quickly counted she found he had given her 25. “Sir, really, this is-“ but she found she was talking to thin air. He was already long gone. It was not often that the Princess was seen outside of Canterlot Castle, and it was unheard of for her to travel unattended. Yet so it was, on a chilly early March morning, that she entered Canterlot Hospital. She rarely had reason to come here or any house of healing, but each time had been a social call: meeting a student one last time, witnessing the passing of dignitaries; she had more reason than most to see these places as houses of death, yet she did not give in to such thinking. The receptionist was naturally quite surprised to see her, “Y-Your Majesty! How might I direct you today?” “Good Morning,” she glanced at her nametag, “Blossom! I know where I’m going, but thank you for your assistance.” “Of course, your Majesty.” The Princess proceeded to the nearest stairs, winding her way to the second, and then third floor. As she walked down towards the southern wing, she pondered one last time on what she was about to do. She had found a new student, a young unicorn colt by the name of Fancy Pants, but he didn’t have the right temperament for what she required. There was no guarantee that another student with his level of brilliance and presence would appear. Time was almost up, and she needed somepony with his knowledge of government with direct ties to her should things turn for the worse. Even now, with twenty years before her sister’s return, she wasn’t sure he’d be ready even if she succeeded. Still, for the sake of her ponies, she had to try. She could not leave them abandoned. She entered the Sanitarium wing in silence, her face not betraying her inner conflict. She found the room, 317, and stood outside. Within a few minutes’ time the doctor making his rounds appeared. Seeing she was waiting for him, he gave a slight bow and greeting while softly apologizing for his lateness. “Don’t worry about it,” she declared as she continued to look at the door and its number, “How has he been?” “His condition remains the same as ever,” the doctor said with a sigh, “Unresponsive, almost to the point of catatonia. He doesn’t react to any speech, movement, or sound. He has retreated so far into himself that it’s almost as if he’s in a waking coma.” He turned to her, a nervous expression on his face, “Are you certain about going through with this?” “It’s necessary,” she declared, then looked back to him, “Thank you for your discretion.” Taking that as his signal to be dismissed, the doctor continued on his rounds, silently praying that everything would turn out alright for his own sake. The Princess unlocked the door with her magic, and stepped into 317. Since the patient was nonviolent the room was furnished almost no differently than that of a nursing home. A small bed, night stand, and rocking chair were all that sat in the room. A window in the eastern wall allowed some small measure of light from the outside. The rocking chair sat in the corner adjacent to the window, making it the darkest place in the room. Within that rocking chair sat the remnant of what used to be Bunsen Burner. He stared vacantly down at his lap, which was covered by a blanket to keep him warm. He gave no response as the Princess entered, who closed the door behind. While she had been constantly updated about his condition, this was the first time she had laid eyes on her former student since his admittance 19 months ago. She had been so ashamed to come back to Equestria far too late, and all of it for a peace treaty that had been broken by the Northern Griffon kingdoms a scant five months after its signing. For what they had forced on her she had enacted steep embargos, and brought all trade to a halt with them, effective for fifty years. She had hoped to leave him in peace; to find another solution that didn’t require tampering with his life ever again. She had to admit though that there was a small part of her deep down that had wanted to forget how she had failed him, to be able to shut away her mistake to be forgotten. It disgusted her that she had had that feeling, even momentarily. She stood before her hollow student for a good five minutes of silence and reflection before she finally spoke, shattering the empty silence, “Hello Bunsen.” He sat in his chair like he had been chiseled into it; a statue of flesh. A rare look of uncertainty passed her face before she looked back to her student’s face, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you when you needed me. I tried, but they twisted my own morals against me. I even attempted to travel back in time to make it right, but something kept me from being able to reach you.” No response came from the broken earth pony, who continued to stare into his lap. The Princess sighed, “There is a power coming that you would not believe, and it threatens the entire world and all life on it. I still need you by my side, but I need you to be more than you are now.” Her horn lit up with golden light, and a small knife with a curved blade appeared from thin air. She then placed the tip of its edge near where her heart would have been. She looked up to her student one last time before the plunge of no return, and declared, “I’m so sorry Bunsen, both for what has already happened and what is to come. Forgive me.” She then slid the knife a small distance into her chest, grunting as she did, and drew it across to the other side. A golden light poured out of the wound where for any mortal there would have been blood, and a reservoir of great power shined into the room. Bright points of light leaked out of the opening in her chest, and she directed them towards the catatonic earth pony. The chain of particles flooded into Bunsen’s body, bathing him in the Princess’ miraculous energies. His body lurched backward at an almost unnatural angle, his spine straining against the muscles spasming throughout him. Beams of gold light burst forth from his eyes and mouth. His lungs took in a deep gasp of air, as if he was dead and had been recalled to life, which was then followed by deep, soul-wrenching scream. All the memories he had sought refuge from in his isle of oblivion came shattering in, drowning him in their pain and toxic emotions. Unconscious of his actions, he burst forward and thrust his left hoof into the Princess’ face. Since she didn’t expect the blow she took the full force of it, staggering back as she did. He took another swing, connecting another blow. She rolled with the thrust this time, standing her ground. When he cocked his foreleg for another strike, she grabbed ahold of him with her magic and pinned him against the wall. The gash in her chest had already sealed shut, but not before a few points of light touched her face, regenerating the broken capillaries and reversing the swelling of her face before it even became visible. Her horn continued to glow, and a golden trail of light snaked its’ way out of the tip. The physical part of his mind was healed, but the psyche simply had too much to bear. He could no longer remain in his little world, but he could not accept or process what had happened to him either. Princess Celestia hoped to fix that. She had prepared for something like this, and while the influence of the mind was not her forte, she had studied enough to be able to construct this spell. The light channeled directly into his forehead, and while his screaming did not stop his expression became more calm and less horrific looking. Using her own mind as a template she hoped to strengthen his, making him more resilient to his torments. She increased the potency of the spell, but nothing seemed to be working. She loathed herself for what she was doing: the act, the spell, how it was to her student, everything. The spell was based on one from a younger time in her life, when it had been a means to ‘reeducate’ those considered deviant by those who zealously followed her. During those years she had been known as Sol Invicta, goddess empress of a kingdom that meant to expand across the whole world, where the sun would always shine on it, and never go down. It was a time she looked back on in shame, but now it seemed that things hadn’t changed all that much over the centuries. When this thought occurred to her, her concentration broke, and the spell dissipated with it. Bunsen Burner fell to the floor, landing on all hooves. The light had faded from his eyes, and his screaming had ended. He stood up slowly, and when he opened his eyes to look at the Princess, they stared back at her in a cold, striking manner, one like she had never seen from him. Though the consequences of her actions were not the ones she had expected, Bunsen was alert, aware, and cured. What had occurred was something quite beyond her better intentions. “Bunsen,” she quietly, almost timidly asked as she approached, “Are you alright?” His icy gaze pierced her heart, before he slowly, tone dripping with acidity, exclaimed, “You should have let. Me Be.” The Princess didn’t object to what he had said, and took his admonishment in silence. “You healed me over the likes of a little filly, and only after I became of use to you.” He left the accusation hanging in the air, and it stung worse than the knife had to her. He calmly walked towards the door, flicking the tossed aside blanket out of his path. He opened the door and then looked back at her, “And no, I won’t forgive you; not ever. Not even in a thousand years.” This hurt worst of all, and the Princess was left alone by her former student. She deserved this, true, but that didn’t stop her from silently shedding a few tears; both for her student and their now destroyed relationship. Bunsen Burner walked out of the hospital, not knowing or caring if he had any personal possessions on hold there. He remembered everything; his journey with Punnett Square, the failure of the Princess, the death of Lily. The only difference now was it was as if he were looking at them through a wall as thick as iron, but clear as glass. The memories were divorced from him, no different than if he were looking back on the life of another pony. Even if he was recalled to life, something had been left behind. The stallion’s body was there, but half his soul was gone. He was something new, but not something better. “Come on, come on: what is it you’re trying to tell me?” Punnett uttered these words in frustration as he stared at the text before his eyes. It had been weeks since he had bought this book, but it was not yielding its secrets. Upon seeing it herself, Bolera helped him to confirm, surprised as she was, that it was indeed the journal of Starswirl the Bearded. Every unicorn with even a passing knowledge of magic knew the legends of its contents, most if not all of it impossible. Time travel measured in decades and centuries, not mere days. Transmutation of any metal into gold, including the deadened element of Lead. The greatest of these rumors, however, was the one which Punnett pursued: the study of alicorn physiology. While he had an above average skill in solving puzzles, this was the likes of one Punnett had never seen. The structure of the now static symbols and the way in which they were spaced did indeed seem like language. Certain symbols appeared often enough that he deduced they were vowels, but the meaning of the symbols themselves proved elusive. Punnett leaned back in his study chair and sighed. It was early morning. Bolera and Cadence were halfway through a night’s sleep. “Why would you lead me on this far, but not give me some kind of clue,” he asked the thin air. He felt both hope and awareness slip away from him, and not but a few minutes later he was fast asleep. The lamp he had been using was almost out of oil, and the flame was beginning to flicker, ready to give out. Suddenly, however, the fuel inside the lamp began to refill, and the wick was opened up. Light flooded the room once again, but the poor scholar remained asleep. A piece of parchment was placed on the desk and silently rolled open. A nearby quill was picked up, and began to write. A soft blanket materialized above the slumbering Punnett, and gently fell around him, which he unconsciously settled into. “You have a pure heart,” an old, kindly voice declared, “The love for your daughter makes you worthy in my eyes.” Hoofsteps sounded as the stranger trotted away. Before he left though he gave Punnett enough of a nudge to stir him momentarily. The weary geneticist blinked. He thought he saw a small flash from behind his chair. Then he heard the sound of many small jingling bells. He thought nothing of it at the moment and returned to his exhausted sleep. It wasn’t until midmorning that he awoke again, and discovered his odd situation. He was covered in a blanket he had never seen before. The oil to his lamp was only now beginning to run out, when he was certain it was in the same state several hours ago. Then he saw the note, written in a flourished, ancient style nothing like his own. He gently picked it up and read it. The symbols correlate to the northern hemisphere’s constellations circa 236. Aithon marks ‘A’. The Ursa is ‘U’. The Hunter stands for ‘H’. Good luck. I hope you find what you seek. Punnett frowned as he thought about the message. He knew the constellations well enough, but- He looked back down at the text. He recognized the shape of Aithon, the flaming planet of just war, and his sign. He transposed it with the letter A. In breathless doubt he did the same with the primordial beast Ursa’s sign with U, then the Minotaur Hunter with H. He began to see a pattern. No, the whole pattern! He began to wheeze in ecstatic laughter. The answer was attainable! He could save Cadence. Then he remembered the sound from the night before, and the flash from behind his chair. He hurriedly looked back to where he expected the flash had been, even though it was long gone. He didn’t know what to believe in anymore, with the possible exception of one thing: miracles.